


Bordello

by Vaelentine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Chains, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1341283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaelentine/pseuds/Vaelentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is kidnapped and held in a brothel. Dean goes to get him out</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bordello

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd, and hasn't even had a second read through because it's 4am and I'm supposed to be sleeping because I have an interview in the morning. BUT apparently, this was more important. I'll read through it again later, but if you find any mistakes let me know  
> Edit: fixed some of the mistakes, changed the wording on a few clunky phrases. Nothing major. Planning a second bit to this a little later, when things are not so hectic

The building was abandoned, and sat at the edge of a neighborhood the police usually left to govern itself. A bit run down, with bare boards peeking through the faded wallpaper and holes in the curtains, but structurally sound-Dean could see why the owners of the bordello that had taken up residence in the former hotel had chosen it. Another night, he might have even been there for his own pleasure, but tonight he has an angel to find.

Castiel had gone dark about two weeks ago-multiple unreturned phone calls and unanswered prayers meant Dean was calling everyone on his rapidly dwindling list of friends for help. In the end it had been Charlie, with facial recognition software she had ‘borrowed’ from a government agency she refused to name, who had found him being shoved into a car under a traffic camera in Indianapolis. A bit of tech mumbo jumbo that Dean hadn’t really followed later, and she said that she was pretty sure she knew where they were keeping him. He had been in the car before she finished the sentence. 

The lobby of the brothel had been turned into a bar slash display area, where the clients could tip back a little liquid courage and the working girls without current appointments could troll for dates. Dean orders a beer and settles into the seat he’s chosen- quieter than the rest of the bar, where the lights didn’t reach as far, but leaving him a good view of the room. His eyes scan the space, lingering for an appreciative moment on stage area, where a couple of girls are bending and wiggling provocatively, take note of the known exits and the open staircase that he guesses lead up to the private rooms. 

After a few hours, Dean has resigned himself to reconnaissance for the night. He had known going in that whoever was holding Castiel was probably not stupid enough to keep an angel tied up in plain view, and with the bouncer guarding the staircase, it was unlikely that he was going to be able to go poking around unnoticed. He orders another beer from a passing waitress, hoping Charlie would have more info on the owner tomorrow. With the angelic faction war still going strong, Dean’s money was on one of the now wingless dicks, but it paid to know what you were walking into. 

Dean is on his third beer of the night when he sees him. Led out of a door marked ‘Employees only’ and over to the staircase by a burly man, Castiel looks exhausted. Not that any of the marks remained, but the small dots of blood on his shirt gave testament to how his time had been spent while in captivity. A petite looking woman pushes at Castiel’s shoulders when he falters at the base of the stairs, allowing the chains wrapped around his wrists to swing into view. Dean suspects he might have a set around his ankles too- the source of his difficulty in navigating the steep incline. 

Castiel never looks up from the tread of the stairs, but Dean still tracks his path up the first flight and onto the second. The whole time he had watched, he hadn’t seen anyone go further than the second story. He is still watching his friend’s slow progress when he feels someone slide into the chair beside him.

“You like what you see, sugar?”

Dean turns his head to find a pretty young woman resting her chin on her fists, smiling coyly at him. Her chocolate brown curls and lush figure would have tempted him to try to get in her pants at any other time.

“Not interested, sorry,” he says and goes back to looking at the staircase. Castiel had made it out of sight by then. 

The woman laughs, the sound richer than he expected, “Not me, hunny. I manage the talent around here. And I couldn’t help but notice your interest in a certain bit of merchandise that just strolled through,” she starts to drag one of her fingers through the little rings of condensation his drinks had left, “Pity he’s not one of mine-I’m merely holding him for one of my bosses. Meant to be kept virginal too, otherwise I’d have put that pretty face to work the first night he got here.”

She sighs dramatically, looking off to where the subject of their conversation had disappeared to, “The money that ass could have made me…” her eyes take on a particularly wicked glint as they slide back to his face, “But I’m not opposed to offering other parts of him, if you’re willing to pay for it. What my boss doesn’t know can’t hurt him after all.” 

A plan starts to form in Dean’s mind as he asks, “How much?”

~-~

After watching a load of cash disappear into the madam’s cleavage, Dean is led up the stairs. There’s only one door at the top of the second flight; the man he saw leading Castiel before stands as they approach.

“What’s this?”

“A client, nitwit,” the madam hisses back at him, clearly affronted at being stopped in her own establishment.

The man crosses his arms and glares at her, “We told you, the boss says this one’s off limits.” 

“You have been parked in my VIP suite for over a week, eating whatever you like, and don’t think I don’t know about what goes on in my basement either. This is a business establishment. How am I supposed to do _business_ if my customers are constantly off put because of the sounds coming from the floorboards, hmm?” The man’s eyes drop to his shoes, but he doesn’t move from where he’s blocking the door, “Look, he’s just getting head. Your precious cargo will still be plenty pure when were done here, and I’m even willing to give you a little cut. You’re moving him out tomorrow; this will be my last chance to recoup some of my losses.”

Dean’s gut unclenches a little when he hears the man mutter, “Fine,” but it clenches right back up again when he continues, “But I’m staying in the room.”

The madam smiles as she turns to Dean and whispers a quiet ‘enjoy’, before heading back down the stairs. The man uncrosses his arms and turns to open the door. He moves through and waits for Dean to step further into the attic room before he shuts the door behind him. For all the woman had said this was the ‘VIP suite’ it doesn’t look much better cared for than the rest of the place. There is a wide bed in one corner, mirrors along the ceiling and a veritable _arsenal_ of kinky toys arrayed on the wall, though-which is where Dean suspects the extra charge for the room comes in. But none of that interests him at the moment. It’s the angel kneeling in the middle of the room, chained by the wrists to a loop of metal sticking out of the floorboards that has his attention. He was right Castiel’s ankles are cuffed too, but he had entirely missed the collar around his neck. 

It’s thick and heavy looking, resting against the skin of his collarbone like a yoke. The metal of the bindings shine unnaturally silver, engraved with markings that glow a faint blue-white. It’s fairly obvious they are keeping Castiel’s grace bound, and that there’s little he can do to free himself. At least the length of the chains at his wrists afford him a fair amount in the way of range of motion. 

Castiel’s head comes up when the door closes, his eyes immediately meeting Dean’s. A look of shock starts to form on his face, but is wiped clean when Dean makes a short negative motion with his hand. The petite woman Dean had seen bringing up the rear earlier unfolds herself from a chair in the corner, curious eyes on her partner.

“Sit down. He’s paid to use the angel’s mouth,” the girl comes to rest on the seat again, her eyes never leaving Dean, as she fiddles with the snap on the hip holster she’s wearing. From behind him Dean hears a revolted grunt of, “Well, get on with it.”

Dean smirks. He’s got this guy’s number, “What, does it get your rocks off watching another man getting his dick sucked? Bet you peek in the showers, too don’t ya big boy?”

There’s a strangled sound of disgust and the man stomps back to the door, slamming it after him. Dean turns his head and eyes the girl. She smiles at him serenely and doesn’t move.

“Uh…little bit of privacy?” The girl’s smile grows a little wider as she gets up, turns the chair so it faces to corner, and sits in it with her back facing the wall. The moment she’s settled, Dean strides over to his friend and starts fingering the collar on his neck, looking for a keyhole. 

“They’re spell locked, Dean,” Castiel whispers, pitching his voice so that only Dean can hear, “You’ll have to use the Mark.”

Castiel raises his head and meets Dean’s eyes. It’s clear he doesn’t like asking this of Dean. They had discovered fairly recently that blood tainted by the Mark of Cain had the ability to undo a fair amount of angelic spellwork. He hadn’t used it that often, because doing so always took so much out of him and each time felt like a little bit more of himself slipped away. Sam had practically begged that he never do it again after the last time, but damnit this is Cas. Dean jerks his head in a nod. 

“You didn’t pay for foreplay, you know,” the girl calls from the corner, “If you can’t get it up and get a move on, I’m gonna kick you out.”

Dean is about to snap something back at her when he feels the zipper on his jeans go down. His eyes go wide and he looks at Castiel, who despite keeping his gaze determinately focused on what his hands are doing seems to know what Dean is about to ask.

“If she doesn’t hear anything she’ll become suspicious. We can’t have her turning around when you’re halfway through breaking me out,” he mumbles, his breath fluttering hotly over the strip of abdomen he’s exposed. 

Dean shuts his eyes and decides he really doesn’t need to watch this happening-it’s bad enough that Cas being so close to his dick already has him hard. He already plans to tell him later it was the girls performing downstairs that brought about that embarrassing condition. He shudders as Cas dips into his boxers to pull him free and mentally blames in on a chill. 

The first experimental lick to the head nearly makes him whimper. Cas wraps his fist loosely around the base of him, thumbing the vein on the underside as he continues his explorations. Dean remembers he was supposed to be opening a vein in a different place and blindly reaches for the Demon knife he’s got sheathed at the small of his back. The sound of metal sliding against leather is covered by the sound of Cas wrapping his lips around the head of his cock and then wetly popping off. Dean flexes his jaw-determined that not a single sound will pass his lips.

Dean has to open his eyes in order to guide the knife to cut his palm. This turns out to be a grave mistake. He looks down to make the cut just as Cas decides to take as much of him into his mouth as he can get. Dean’s knees loosen, making Cas wrap a steadying hand around his hipbone. Cas pulls off torturously slow, sliding his other hand up to cover the flesh now emerging from his mouth. Spreading the shiny saliva around, Cas pumps him a few times, then returns Dean’s cock to his mouth letting the full weight of it slide along his tongue. 

A fair amount of blood has pooled in Dean’s palm while he’s been captivated watching Cas’s lips stretch around him. He wraps the excess chain around his wrist and sets his palm against the wrist cuff of the hand that is now gripping more ass cheek than hip. A small flash of light, and the cuff releases. Without messing up the rhythm he’s built, Cas switches his hands so Dean can access the other wrist cuff. Dean quickly thrusts his palm against the other one, before he can become enthralled again, and then quietly lowers both cuffs to the floor. Cas lets his jaw slacken a bit to create a slew of obscenely loud slurping sounds to cover the clink of the chains as they settle. 

Now for the collar. The hand still holding the knife slips through dark hair to the base of Cas’s neck. Dean slips two fingers under the collar, but the pressure pushes Cas forward a bit more forcefully onto his cock. He feels himself hit the back of the angel’s throat and gasps. Looking down to apologize, he locks eyes with Cas for the first time since this thing started. Cas’s pupils are exploded-there’s barely any blue to the irises anymore. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say that Cas was _enjoying_ this. Would almost say he’s smirking around him now, as he brings his other hand down to cup Dean’s balls. Still not breaking eye contact, Cas presses a knuckle ever so gently into the space just behind his balls and Dean sees stars. 

Dean’s knees really do collapse this time, and he brings his bloody palm to Cas’s neck in an attempt to catch himself before his knees connect with hardwood. He’s partially successful, as he ends up more in Cas’s lap than anything with his head tucked into his chest. The sound of the heavy collar hitting the floor pulls it up in a hurry though, looking to the corner where the petite girl has knocked over her chair in her haste to face them.

Seeing the angel free, the girl looks terrified, her eyes flashing black. The door behind Dean slams open then, and there’s no time. Dean throws the knife that is still in his hand just as he hears the crack of a gunshot at close range. The knife slides into her chest like butter, making her light up like a sparkler. As she drops, Dean becomes aware that Castiel has one arm around his waist, and the other pointing ramrod straight under his arm. Castiel sighs in relief and lowers the arm, sitting back from Dean slightly. After a beat, he hands Dean back the pistol he swiped from his underarm holster silently, eyes searching Dean’s face. 

Dean takes the gun and scoots back off of Castiel, refusing to look at him and see the evidence of what they’d done. He rises to his feet and turns slightly to tuck himself back into his pants, smearing the front panel with a bit of his own blood. It’s not like he isn’t used to getting bloodstains out of his clothing by now.  
“Dean-” Castiel’s voice is rougher than usual.

“We don’t have time to talk about it, Cas. We gotta get outta here before someone comes looking for the source of that gunshot,” he whips back around and quickly kneels to take care of the ankle restraints before rushing over to retrieve the knife. 

“Fine,” Castiel says, climbing to his feet when both manacles have thunked to the floor, “But we _will_ be talking about it,” the tone of his voice lets Dean know that this is fact, in no uncertain terms, “Later.”

“Later,” Dean strides toward the door, anxious to make good on their escape. He’ll worry about finding a way to weasel out of that conversation when they were safely back at the bunker.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S.-Getting twitter alerts from Misha Collins while writing Destiel smut is the single most difficult thing to concentrate through. It’s like he knows what I'm imagining his hands doing. o.O Not sure if he'd be pleased or scandalized.  
> Also, let me know what you think. I still feel a bit weird writing smut. I can never tell if it's coming off as sexy or just awkward.


End file.
